


inhibition

by envysparkler



Series: Amplector [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddle Pollen, Dissociation, Fever, Gen, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Non-Consensual Cuddling, Panic Attacks, Whump, fear of sexual assault, well no that's the opposite of his problem actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Batman gets hit by a Poison Ivy special.  Jason is unfortunately caught in the crossfire.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Amplector [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114211
Comments: 258
Kudos: 1080





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got an idea from my whump discord group about Jason being around a Bruce with lowered inhibitions, and it somehow mutated into three different fic ideas. This is one of them.
> 
> Content warning: a character mistakenly assumes that cuddle pollen is actually sex pollen, and has a panic attack. (Detailed specifics in end notes.)

It wasn’t the first time they’d faced Poison Ivy – the first time they faced Ivy, it was because she was tearing down a building that had already been condemned, and Batman lurked in the corner and offered Ivy tips on which supports to break so that the building would collapse inwards and not affect the structures on either side.

Ivy had chatted with Batman about Earth Day gifts as her vines splintered through wood, and she gave Jason a small sapling that Bruce had made a pinched face at, but allowed him to plant on the property. It looked like it was an apple tree, though Bruce had warned him not to eat any of the apples until they tested it.

This time, Ivy was not in nearly as good a mood. This time, her vines were tearing up downtown as she attempted to get at some oil executive’s penthouse apartment, and Batman was having a hard time stopping her.

Jason used the grappling line to stay in the air, throwing batarangs at nearby vines and hoisting himself up higher every time they flailed. Batman was on the ground, somewhere in the thicket of shifting vines, and he could hear Ivy’s enraged shouts as the plants lashed out.

“Robin,” Batman grunted, “Head for the north patch, there’s an opening there.”

“On my way,” Jason murmured, aiming his grapple line at the opposite building and swinging low, using a patch of vines to cushion his landing before he hit the ground running.

“Batman, if you need assistance,” Batgirl’s voice echoed over the comm, “I can –”

“No,” Batman cut her off.

“But he’s at Tricorner Yards –”

“I said no.”

“It’s only fifteen minutes away –”

“ _No_ ,” Batman snapped, as Jason ducked under a vine and vaulted over another, heading for the center, “Robin and I have things under control.”

Jason wanted to disagree with that statement, but he held his tongue as he dodged a vine that shot for his face and aimed a batarang that sliced through another heading for his leg.

Somewhere in the thicket, Ivy screamed.

Batgirl sighed loud enough to be heard over the comms. Jason empathized – Dick had only been in Gotham for four hours, following the trail of one of his Bludhaven cases, and he and Bruce had already managed to have a screaming match loud enough to scare the bats.

Jason scrabbled past the last few vines and into the plant bubble, sticking to the edges as Ivy and Batman circled each other.

“You’re _just_ like them,” she hissed, “You and that tank you call a car –”

“It’s electric,” Batman growled.

“Poisoning our rivers, polluting our oceans – do you know how many lives that man has taken? Do you even _care_?”

“Murdering him will not solve the problem,” Batman said, angling so that Jason could catch the flash of his whiteout lenses. Jason shifted into position.

“But it’ll make a _point_ ,” Ivy snarled, and Jason attacked.

A vine caught the batarang before it could hit her shoulder, but it didn’t matter – in the second Ivy turned to him, having clearly forgotten that he was still in the fight, Batman lunged forward, tranquilizer in hand.

“ _No_ ,” Ivy hissed, and the vines around her began to bloom, but it was too late – the tranquilizer sank into skin.

Batman depressed the needle and the buds burst.

Jason immediately grabbed his rebreather, fitting it over his face with the ease of constant practice. Batman jerked the needle away from Ivy, a half second behind Jason in grabbing his rebreather.

Ivy slowly sank to the floor, and the vines around them stilled.

“Ivy’s down,” Jason said into the comm, his voice muffled by the rebreather, as Batman knelt to check her vitals.

Batgirl gave a sigh of relief, “Cops are on their way.”

“Great,” Jason hummed. Batman stepped away from Ivy, his movements strangely jerky, and immediately headed out, pushing past the vines. “B?” Jason called out, jogging behind him, “You okay?”

He winced as his ankle twinged – he’d hit the ground _hard_ , and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it was beginning to protest. He swore silently and paused a moment to rotate it – not broken. Thank god.

“B? Are we continuing patrol?” Jason asked, pushing past the last curtain of vines. Ordinarily, they took a break after a major fight like this – cops would be swarming all over the city, sirens blaring, and petty crime would be down – but with Nightwing in town, Batman would be extra-obsessive.

There was no cowled figure waiting for him to emerge from the plant bubble.

“B?” Jason asked, surprised, turning in a slow circle – flickering streetlights, torn-up asphalt, a distant wail of sirens getting closer, but no sign of Dark, Gloomy, and Brooding.

“Is there a problem?” Batgirl asked.

Jason paused, midway through scanning the neighboring roofs – that was a suspiciously bat-shaped silhouette. “No,” he huffed, “Just lost B for a moment. We’re probably heading back now.”

“Alright,” Batgirl answered, clicking the channel back off.

Jason aimed his grapple line and shot forward, up to the roof that Batman was lurking on. He took a second to turn his comm off before he stepped forward. “Hey,” he asked, quiet, “You okay?” Jason didn’t see Batman take a hit, but he’d lost sight of him for nearly a full minute back in those vines.

Jason ignored the part of him that chanted _Nightwing could’ve done better_ and eased forward, towards the patch of shadow that was darker than the rest. “B?” Jason asked, “Batman?” His foot hit something that rattled across the gravel. “You alright?”

The object rolled into the light – it was a rebreather.

Jason had enough time to think _oh shit_ when the patch of darkness _moved_.

It slammed into him, and Jason had never really realized how much Bruce held back during their spars, because the weight pinning him down was a steel trap, knees digging into his thighs and fingers wrapped around his arms, bruising tight.

“B – _Batman_ ,” Jason exhaled on a wheeze, struggling for breath – Batman simplified the problem, shifting his grip to squeeze Jason’s wrists in one gloved hand as he tore Jason’s rebreather off.

Jason took a full breath of the cold, smoggy air, feeling dread curdle in his stomach – Batman brought his hand up again, and Jason instinctively squirmed away, tucking his head to the side, but Batman unsealed his mask easily, peeling it off with a restrained movement.

“Batman,” Jason said, his heartrate increasing, “Batman, _stop_.”

Batman ignored him, shifting up, and Jason – Jason was pinned under a man that was more than a hundred pounds heavier than him, his legs trapped and his arms restrained above his head, and –

Ivy’s pollen. Colloquially referred to as sex pollen.

“Batman,” Jason snarled this time, forcing up anger to cover the sharp slice of terror, “Get _off_ of me!” He writhed, bucking up against Batman’s grasp, desperately trying to at least free a leg or an arm, so that he could get Batman off and run. Or hide.

He wasn’t sure where in Gotham was safe from Batman, but the pollen had to wear off. It had to.

“Get off!” Jason shouted, and Batman shifted, his grip loosening on Jason’s wrists for a moment – Jason took the opportunity, twisting sharply and unseating Batman.

Gravel pressed painfully against his hands and knees as he scrambled forward, skidding slightly as he desperately lunged to his feet – he needed to get away, he had to –

Weight, forcing him down. Plastered against his back, gauntlets digging into his shoulders – Jason twisted, elbow out, and aimed for the cowl – Batman faltered when it cracked into his face, and Jason clawed against the gravel, trying frantically to struggle free.

The hands came back – wrenching his shoulders up, and his back arched painfully, his hips still pinned to the ground by Batman’s weight – and just when Jason thought his spine was going to crack, Batman shifted off of him. Arms moved to wrap around his ribcage, and Jason was pulled back forcefully, his back slamming into armor hard enough to knock the breath out from his lungs, arms tightening painfully around his ribs.

Jason wheezed for breath, clinging helplessly to the thick gauntlets binding his arms to his sides with the unyielding strength of steel, panic surging with every shallow gasp.

He couldn’t breathe.

Batman was going to break his ribs at this rate. Batman was going to –

Armor, a hard line all around him. His legs were trapped under Batman’s, twisted painfully and sending twinges of warning as he struggled. The steel bindings around his chest – the _hands on him_ – the breaths tickling his ear, heavy and panting.

“ _No_ ,” a strangled whimper burst out of his throat, “No, please, Batman, _stop_.” He still couldn’t breathe, his lungs fluttering uselessly. “No, you promised, you _swore_ –”

Batman squeezed tighter, and his words cut off in a gasp.

Batman had promised. And Jason hadn’t trusted it, hadn’t dared, because he knew the kind of lies that spilled from rich men’s lips, but –

But somewhere along the line, Batman had become _Bruce_ , had become B, had become the closest thing to a father that Jason could claim and – and now –

“ _B_ ,” Jason choked, his breath catching – between one blink and the next, the world was blurry.

It was the pollen. Jason knew it was. And that just made everything _worse_ – it was like the world was affirming that Jason was good for only one thing, no matter how hard he tried to escape it, and –

The tears burned down his cheeks, and Jason felt his breath stutter as he tried to inhale. Batman’s grip shifted and he sucked in a sharp breath – _please no stop please Bruce please please please_ – but begging wasn’t going to stop Batman, it wasn’t going to snap him out of the effects of the pollen, it wasn’t going to save Jason.

Terror caught him, paralyzing him as efficiently as any toxin, and his chest heaved with sobs, battering against their bruising cage as he tried desperately to breathe – he had to breathe, he had to relax, he knew that relaxing made it hurt less, but he _couldn’t_ , his limbs locked in tension as tears dripped off his face, turning the rooftop into a shimmering waver of dark shadows.

“ _Batman_ ,” Jason’s voice cracked, and something in his heart cracked with it.

_No, no, no –_ if Jason had been better, if Jason had been _faster_ , if Jason had recognized that Ivy was planning something – if _Jason_ had gotten hit, because Batman would’ve stopped him before he hurt anyone – _please Bruce please don’t_ – if Jason hadn’t been _Robin_.

His gasping, panicked sobs echoed back at him, filling the air with hitched, cut-off breaths as the lump in his throat swelled. Jason squeezed his eyes shut – he knew that it would only make the pain _worse_ , but he couldn’t watch Batman – watch _Bruce_ – if he closed his eyes he could pretend it was just a nightmare, just another bad dream, just another memory of the streets – _please Dad don’t_ –

Something shifted in the air, a controlled inhale, a soft footfall – Batman tightened his grasp, forcing Jason’s head back against the armor as he struggled for a breath, and snarled, low and angry.

“Little Wing?” came the soft, hesitant tone, and Jason cracked his eyes open to see a blur of black-and-blue and he didn’t care that Dick hated him, he didn’t care about proving himself better than the original Robin, he didn’t care that this cemented his failure –

“H-help. _P-please_.”

The black-and-blue blur got closer, and Batman’s growls increased in proportion, until Jason was wheezing desperately for breath because those arms were an inch away from cracking his ribs. Nightwing paused in front of them for half a second, before he moved – Jason felt the hits reverberate through Batman’s arms, and the grasp loosened automatically.

He was instantly pulled free, rolling against the gravel – Batman _growled_ , the sound edging into a roar – Nightwing grunted, and there was a low, harsh wheeze.

No telltale sign of the escrima sticks buzzing. No further sounds of a fight, aside from the rustle of kevlar against kevlar and short, fast breaths.

Jason had to leave. Had to run. Had to take the opportunity that Nightwing had given him, and find an alcove, and _hide_.

He couldn’t move. He kept breathing, shallow gasps against the gravel, tears sliding hot and fast down his cheeks. His limbs felt like jelly, and his heartbeat echoed like thunder in his ears.

Everything was too quiet. Everything was too _loud_.

“Calm _down_ , B,” Nightwing hissed, “I’m just trying to – let me get _comfortable_ –”

Jason’s next inhale cracked into a sob.

“Your belt is jabbing into my side – just – give me a _moment_ – you always have to be difficult, don’t you –”

Jason dragged in a long, shuddering breath, and felt guilt and shame coil next to terror and horror – he couldn’t waste the chance that Nightwing had given him – he couldn’t – he – Nightwing had – he needed to _move_ –

“ _My ribs_ ,” Nightwing wheezed, breathless, and Jason forced himself up to his hands and knees, scrubbing furiously at his face. He couldn’t leave Nightwing. Not with Batman. Not like this. Maybe – maybe if they worked together, they could fight it off, maybe –

He rocked back into a crouch, and froze at the sight in front of him.

Nightwing was sitting in Batman’s lap, pressed so close to the dark armor that it looked like it was swallowing him. One of Batman’s arms was tight across Nightwing’s stomach, the other constricting his chest. Batman had buried his nose in the curve of Nightwing’s throat, and was taking deep, controlled breaths as Nightwing let his head fall backwards, mask off.

But – but everyone’s clothes were still on. Nightwing had both his hands free, and his escrima sticks were in easy reach. Instead of shocking Batman, or fighting back, he was awkwardly patting the cowl with one hand.

Jason stared.

“Little Wing,” Nightwing smiled softly when he noticed Jason’s stare, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Jason skittered back, clutching his cape and drawing it tightly around himself, forcing trembling fingers to hold fast. Nightwing’s expression shifted to concern. “Robin,” he said, slower, “Are you okay?”

Jason wavered in place – his skin felt like ants were crawling all over it, his stomach was churning, a slow ache had begun to throb behind his eyes, and he was still hiccupping with every other breath.

“He – he got hit. Ivy’s pollen.” The words felt thick and clumsy on his tongue, and Jason flinched when he heard his hoarse rasp.

“I figured,” Nightwing chuckled, “He’s never this cuddly otherwise.” Batman growled.

The words were teasing, the tone casual. Nightwing didn’t look the slightest bit concerned, or distressed – and after that argument – Jason didn’t think – but Dick had been with Bruce for _years_ – what if –

“Robin, what happened?” Dick asked softly.

Jason darted a glance between him and Batman. He forced the words past dry lips, “Ivy’s pollen. On the streets, they – they call it sex pollen.”

Dick opened his mouth, and closed it. Several expressions flitted across his face, of which Jason only caught horror and shock. Finally, Dick squeezed his eyes shut – he took a deep, ragged breath before he opened them again.

“It’s true,” he said quietly, “That the pollen makes people more…physically affectionate. But when in proximity to family members, that affection translates to snuggling.” Dick wriggled slightly, as if to demonstrate. Batman growled again, and tightened his grip, as if Dick was a teddy bear that he was clutching.

Dick patted the cowl again, and continued, his voice almost trembling, “He isn’t going to hurt you or me, Little Wing. I promise.”

The horror slowly drained out of him, leaving him numb and shaking. There was no relief – there was just dying waves of terror and swirling misery and deep exhaustion. Jason wanted to curl up and close his eyes and put his hands over his ears and just shut the world out.

“The Batmobile’s idling in the alley behind you,” Dick said, still soft, like Jason was a wild horse that would spook. “You can wait there for us. The pollen will wear off soon.”

Jason would usually have fiercely protested at doing anything Nightwing told him to do. At being sent away, like a child, like he was _weak_. But he was still shaking, and his breathing hadn’t calmed down, and curling up inside the Batmobile, all by himself, sounded like a fantastic idea right now.

Jason straightened, and was hit with an immediate wave of prickling.

It felt like needles being jabbed into his skin, over and over and _over_ , the feeling intensifying as he tried to take a step back, and it nearly sent him to his knees. He gasped, clutching his arms and bending over, but it was _everywhere_ , all around him, it was crawling and prickling and tingling and _too much_ –

“Robin? Robin, are you okay?”

“Hurts,” Jason managed to gasp out, “It – it feels like –” A fierce wave of burning cut him off, the words dying in his throat as Jason crumpled to his knees.

“Like ants crawling all over you?” Dick finished, and Jason fought to raise his head. Dick’s expression was pinched and pale. “I think you got hit with some pollen too,” Dick said, soft and apologetic.

Oh _god_. Was this what it felt like? Jason wanted to claw his own skin off. He wanted – he wanted to –

“Do you want a hug, Little Wing?” Dick asked gently.

Jason whimpered. Batman was still wrapped around Dick – _too close_ , a part of his mind shrieked, he could still feel the weight of Batman pinning him down, heavy and solid and terrifying –

“He won’t grab you,” Dick said, level and soothing – and every inch of his skin was burning and Jason didn’t _care_ if it was the Golden Boy, if it was perfect, superior Dick Grayson, he needed someone to make it all _stop_.

Jason crawled forward a couple of steps and hesitated for a moment, before shifting up into Dick’s lap.

Warm arms came around him, more slender than Batman, tugging him up all the way and pressing him against Dick’s front – Jason could feel Batman’s gauntlets against his side as he curled up – as Dick tucked his head under his chin. One arm wrapped around Jason’s stomach, the other around his shoulders as gentle fingers stroked through his hair.

“Shh, Little Wing,” Dick said, soft and gentle, “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

The warmth and pressure alleviated some of the burning, but not all – Jason pressed forward, burrowing into Dick’s grasp, still shaking. A fresh wave of tears dripped down his cheeks, and he buried his head into Dick’s suit, ragged sobs shuddering through his chest.

“Shh,” Dick soothed, and the fingers tugging gently at his hair eased the prickling, quieting some of the fierce ache in his heart.

Jason clutched tightly at Dick and let the older boy’s steady heartbeat relax his own rapid pulse, matching his breathing to Dick’s slow, deep breaths. Dick began singing, something quiet and lulling, in a language Jason didn’t recognize, and he felt his stiffness ease as he relaxed, fingers drawing out tension with every stroke through his hair, until Jason was limp and wrung out.

The tears had stopped but his cheeks were wet and itchy, his breathing stuttering every so often. Dick didn’t seem to mind that Jason had thoroughly soaked the front of his suit – he held Jason close, firm but not suffocating, and it felt _safe_.

For the first time since Dick had sneered at the sight of him in the Robin costume, Jason felt like he had an older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a chapter two featuring Red-Hood!Jason.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi, I'd like the order the same thing, but with Red Hood.

“Anyone sprayed some pesticide lately?” Jason grumbled as he fought through the vines, his guns exchanged for a long knife, “What’s Ivy so pissed about _now_?”

“Harley,” echoed through his comms in three different voices.

“What did Little Miss Cuckoo do _this_ time?”

“Nothing,” Batman grumbled – Jason still couldn’t believe he drew the short straw to help Batman with Ivy while Nightwing and Robin were dealing with a gang bust on the other side of town. “Which is the problem. The Suicide Squad’s been out of contact for two weeks.”

“I thought that was the purpose of a goddamn suicide squad,” Jason muttered, but the bite was mostly feigned. “What, does she think that Waller’s going to hand Harley over if Ivy mangles some roads? Because I hate to break it to her – Waller doesn’t give two shits about Gotham.”

Probably because Batman wouldn’t let her in the city, or anywhere near Arkham Asylum.

“No, Ivy thinks that if she gets put into Arkham, Harley will come to break her out. Which she will.”

“Great,” Jason groaned, hacking through another set of veins and ignoring the burst of pollen as the vines flailed. This was why it paid to have a helmet with state-of-the-art filters. “And we’re all part of the plan.”

“Unfortunately.”

As predicted, Ivy didn’t put up much of a fight, and Jason attempted to clean his weapons while Batman checked to make sure Ivy was down before the cops arrived.

The stickiness covering his knives refused to rub off, and Jason made a face. He needed a decontamination shower. He needed _several_ decontamination showers. He looked up – he’d rather wash off in the Cave then attempt to scrub everything clean in the bathtub of Shitty Safehouse of the Month – but his opportunity for a ride seemed to have…vanished.

“B?” Jason called out, pushing his way through the vines and fighting a shudder when even more of the dusty, sticky stuff got all over his clothes, “Where the hell did you go, old man?”

The street was pretty much deserted, and Jason spun in a slow circle to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Nope. Batman seemed to have disappeared.

“Problem?” Oracle asked, as Jason grappled up to the roof of the nearest building.

“B’s vanished,” Jason growled, because he thought that Batman would at least stick around for a _second_ before bailing. “Did anyone change the access codes to the Cave when I wasn’t looking?” His motorcycle was a few blocks away, and he’d have to clean _that_ too – Jason groaned, and stomped to the edge of the rooftop.

“Did he get hit with pollen?” Oracle asked, “Usually he stays for clean-up, and he’s not responding on comms.”

Jason felt a prickle go down his spine. “He was wearing his rebreather,” Jason started slowly, scanning the rooftop he was on and relaxing slightly when there was no sign of a bat-shaped cowl. But the rebreather’s filters were limited, and they weren’t perfect. “Get Nightwing over here.”

After all, everyone had made it pretty clear that he wasn’t part of the _family_ , even if he was sometimes an ally, and Batman was one of the few people that Jason would have difficulty fighting off.

There was a pause, then Oracle’s voice clicked back on, “He’s busy.”

“Well, _I’m_ certainly not babysitting the Bat, so –”

“Hood,” a terse voice snapped – Dick, sounding out of breath and annoyed, “It’ll take us another ten minutes to get there, and I’m pretty sure these thugs cracked a couple of my ribs. You need to handle it.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Dick was _not_ suggesting what Jason thought he was suggesting. He couldn’t be. Dick had made it pretty clear that the whole ‘big brother’ thing had died along with Jason, but he wasn’t – Nightwing was still –

No one responded. Jason growled and stepped back to the edge of the rooftop – he was getting out of here. Batman was not his problem.

The thing was, Batman couldn’t be _silent_. If you were well-trained and paranoid enough, you could hear the shift of wind around his cape before he attacked.

Unfortunately, hearing him coming did jack squat when you couldn’t move out of the way fast enough.

Jason hit the gravel with a groan that was strangled into a squeak as more than two hundred pounds of vigilante slammed into him. He rolled instinctively – _get out of the way of the resulting strike_ – as adrenaline spiked – _shit Batman got hit shit the pollen_ shit – his hands moving automatically to his guns.

The Batsuit was bulletproof, and Jason wouldn’t be aiming to kill anyway. Just to incapacitate, long enough for him to get away.

Please, _please_ let him get away.

Jason had barely wrapped his hands around the guns when an elbow drove into his solar plexus – even with armor, that _hurt_ , and he was momentarily forced to discard his weapons in favor of the pressing urge to breathe.

Fingers scrabbled at the holsters, at his _belt_ – no no _please_ no _this couldn’t be happening_ – Jason snarled and twisted, kicking up at Batman and forcing himself free of the grasping hands. Unfortunately, Batman kept his grip on Jason’s belt, and it tugged free, leaving most of his weapons out of easy reach.

“I need _immediate_ backup,” Jason snarled into his comms, taking a wary step back. His grapple line was on his belt, his flashbangs, all his toys and tricks. Jason had a knife strapped to his pants and a couple of throwing knives in his boots, but he didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold Batman off.

Batman threw the belt and holsters to the side, and advanced. Oracle’s voice crackled back over the comm, which distracted Jason enough that he didn’t realize that the first lunge was just a feint, and it was too late to correct.

His boots skidded on the gravel, and Batman tackled him to the ground.

His head hit the ground with a dull impact that would’ve definitely hurt if he wasn’t wearing a helmet – it dazed him enough to let the panic catch up, winding slowly through his veins. His legs were free, not that that meant much when Batman was sitting on his stomach, knees digging into his ribs as gloved hands pressed against his throat.

Jason managed to wheeze out a breathless ‘no’, but the latches on his helmet clicked in the safety pattern, and a second later, he could feel the air on his face.

“ _Stop_ ,” Jason tried as his helmet clattered somewhere in the distance.

Fingers across his bare cheeks, pressing into his mask. Peeling it off too quickly, and ignoring Jason’s hiss at the burn.

“Batman –” his voice wavered as he blinked his eyes open – Jason was only an inch shorter than Bruce, but pinned to the ground, he felt like he was twelve again, twelve as a nightmare stepped out of the shadows with eyes burning white – “Don’t – don’t do this – _please_ –”

Batman ignored him. Not like he listened to Jason even when he was in his right mind. _Fuck_ , Jason wanted throw Ivy’s stupid apples at her stupid face, _why did she keep making this pollen?_

The knees disappeared from his ribs – Jason took a deep, panicked breath – and arms yanked him up, wrapping around his back and squeezing him tight against armor, his face forced against the shoulder plate. His arms were trapped between his armor and dark kevlar, his legs twisted under Batman’s, and the grip tightened as Jason struggled.

No – _no_ – he had to get out – he was the goddamn _Red Hood_ – he’d spent _years_ making sure this would never happen to him again – _no_ –

It didn’t matter how sharply he twisted, how fiercely he struggled, how hard he scrabbled against dark armor – the bonds around him were unyielding.

_No_.

_No, it couldn’t –_

_No, Bruce, please –_

_Don’t – please don’t –_

Terror sliced through him as his struggles died, fatigue burning through his muscles and forcing him still. He tried desperately to take a breath, but he could manage only too-fast, shallow breaths against the hard armor, his face pressing painfully against the stiff plates.

_Six, he was six, and there was a man looming over him with a frightening smile – and that was the only time he’d been_ thankful _to see his father –_

He had to breathe. He had to – he had to _calm down_. He couldn’t – _fuck_ , he needed to breathe.

_Eight, he was eight, and his mom’s eyes were vacant as her dealer leered at him – and he ran before the threat in that leer could turn into a promise_ –

“B-Batman. _Don’t_.”

_Ten, he was ten, and the streets were so cold, and he was so hungry, and he was alone, so alone – and there was a man in the car and he was holding out money and Jason took it because he didn’t have any other choice_ –

He could feel the hands on him, the memory-sensations of fingers running down his side – he’d been smaller, much smaller, he hadn’t stood at a hulking six-two, carrying muscle and guns and a dangerous scowl that signified predator and not prey –

But here, pinned and helpless, without his helmet and mask and guns, it didn’t matter.

There was always someone bigger. Always someone stronger. And every time Jason was on the verge of forgetting the lesson, the world reminded him.

_The crowbar. The pain. The laughter. The fire_ –

Red blood and green, green, _green_ – but he couldn’t get enraged when terror slithered into his bones.

He had to leave, he had to get away, he had to be _not here_ – like stepping out of his skin for a moment, because that wasn’t his body, it wasn’t, he was going to curl up and squeeze his eyes shut and cover his ears and pretend like the world didn’t exist.

Someone was sobbing. Ragged, wrenched breaths, cracking into shallow gasps.

Deep breaths rumbled through the air, controlled, yet strained. A curious weight against helmet-mussed hair.

Arms squeezing tight. The ridged edges of the gauntlets, pressing against unarmored skin hard enough to leave colorful bruises.

A heart, beating far too fast, a hummingbird hammering against its cage.

“Hood?”

Footfalls, one after the other – both near silent.

“Hood – _Jason_!”

He had to keep breathing. He had to – he – darkness ebbed in and out – _just keep breathing_ , the child whispered, _just keep breathing_.

It had to stop at some point. _This too shall pass_.

“Jason – Jason, can you hear me?”

“He’s nonresponsive.”

“Of all the times to have cracked ribs – okay, Robin, I need you to take off your mask.”

“What – _why_ –”

“Either you take it off, or it’ll be taken off of you, come on, quick –”

“Tt. _Fine_.”

“Okay, remember – if you relax, he doesn’t hold you as tightly. Now, aim for the nerve clusters near the shoulder joint – you know where they are? Good. On my mark –”

He distantly noticed the bands loosening, hands coiling on his arms, a sharp jerk and the world twisting around him.

“Jason? Jason? Jaybird, can you hear me?”

It trickled back in fractured pieces – the gravel under his knees. Salt on his lips, wetness dripping off his face. The ache in his chest, his breaths dry and hoarse. The wind sucking at his skin.

Blue wings on a dark uniform, and a mask that couldn’t hide concern.

“Little Wing, can you hear me?” Dick asked softly and Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

_Where are you_ , asked something deep in his mind, a reserve of training and meditation.

Gotham. Rooftop. Ivy and pollen and Batman – _no_.

_Who are you with_ , the voice continued, implacable and calm.

Dick. Robin – that meant the demon brat, nowadays. Bruce – Batman – a hulking shadow pinning him down – _no, don’t think about it, no_.

_How many ways to escape_ , the next question asked coolly, and Jason finally dragged his gaze up.

He could see the edges of a fire escape in the corner of his eye. The rusted lock on the rooftop access door. The neighboring building was close enough to reach, if Jason had a running start. The grapple gun hanging on Dick’s belt, a few feet away.

“Little Wing?”

The next question was _how many ways to kill_ , but Jason had stopped using that one a long time ago.

“Fine,” Jason rasped, tremulous – he was still shaking, and Dick stretched an arm out – and curled it back before it could land on his shoulder.

“Jason –”

“I’m _fine_.” He shifted fully into a crouch – something was thrumming under his skin, prickles dancing down his spine, and it wasn’t rage.

“Are you hurt?” Dick asked softly, and Jason straightened all the way, forcing height to be his advantage again.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, using his hoarse voice to turn the words into a growl.

Batman was sitting on the roof. An extremely annoyed Robin was perched in his lap, pouting, but the whiteout lenses of the cowl were turned towards him.

Jason took a step back, too weary to hide that it was anything other than fear, and did a mental check.

Armor was still in one piece. Knives were in place. The only things Batman had taken off were the helmet, mask – _“He likes to see our faces,” Dick laughed, “Make sure it’s really his kids.”_ – and the belt – the holsters. The _guns_.

_Fuck_. Jason scrubbed a hand over his face – he could feel the exhaustion in every muscle, panic ebbing far too slowly, even as realization hesitantly set in.

Dick didn’t press, gradually straightening, but Jason could read the emotions on his face. The way he kept a good three feet between them. The darting glances between Jason and Batman.

“Okay,” Dick said quietly, “Jaybird, you –”

“Don’t,” Jason cut him off – he was aiming for harsh, but ended somewhere near pleading.

Dick fell silent. Jason eyed him, and the slight hunch in his posture, the way he was leaning to his left with one arm pressed against his side. Jason glanced at Batman again, and calculated the probability of Nightwing and Robin being able to get a not-lucid Batman back to the Cave.

He let out a slow, drained exhale. “Come on,” he said quietly, “We need to get back to the Cave. Did you bring the Batmobile?”

Dick stared at him. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Am I sure that Robin can’t drag B back all by himself? Yes.”

“Jaybird, you don’t –”

“Just call the Batmobile,” Jason retorted, too tired to argue, “And get my stuff.”

Dick pursed his lips, but did what Jason asked, scooping up the belt, helmet, and mask before heading towards the alley. Robin watched him approach with a suspicious look on his face – Jason could feel the prickling across his skin grow stronger with every step, and he stopped a foot away from Bruce, his heart racing.

_He didn’t hurt you_ , a small voice pointed out. As though that should be enough. As though that meant Jason could trust Batman. Could trust _Bruce_.

Just – just get Batman to the Cave. That was it. And then he could get out, and ignore Dick’s too-knowing looks and – and just –

Jason took a deep breath, hands squeezing into fists, and bent down to haul Batman up. He moved with Jason’s pull, straightening easily – Robin squeaked when his feet left the ground, still clutched to Batman’s chest – and Jason ignored the weight of the gaze behind the white lenses as he shoved Batman towards the rooftop access door.

Batman uncurled one arm from around Robin, and Jason immediately stumbled three steps back.

Robin dangled limply in the hold, narrowed blue-green eyes flitting from Batman to Jason, and reached out to seize Batman’s arm and tug it back.

Batman made a low growl. Jason exhaled, and turned his attention to kicking the door in.

It was an uncomfortable trip down the stairs – Batman wordless but definitely not soundless, Jason hyperaware of how little maneuvering room the stairs gave him, and Robin getting more and more sullen the longer he was carried like a misbehaving kitten – and an even more uncomfortable ride in the Batmobile – Jason was squeezed between Batman and the door, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, one hand with a death grip on the door, as Dick alternated between staring at the road and twisting to look at the backseat.

Some part of his stomach only untwisted when they managed to get Batman into the safety restraints, ignoring his increasing growl to pry Robin free.

“You’re right,” Dick said, breathing heavily as he leaned against the bed. Batman was twisting against the restraints, and Jason reached forward to tug the cowl off – there was pollen smeared on it, which was not helping the situation. “Definitely couldn’t have managed that with just me and Robin.”

Damian had already stalked off to the showers, his glare promising murder – unfortunately, Jason had been a little too busy trying to not hyperventilate to snap any pictures. Maybe Oracle would have some.

Jason ignored him, and ignored Bruce, who was staring at him with wide, wounded eyes as he struggled against the restraints. He tossed the leather jacket, and began unbuckling the body armor – the downside of not worrying about inhaling the stuff was that Jason hadn’t even tried to dodge, and now it was on everything.

“It’s okay,” Dick said quietly, “I can handle it from here, Jay.”

Jason couldn’t help the snort. “Really? Are you going to keep him in the restraints until the pollen wears off, or until he breaks his wrists trying to get out?” He motioned to Bruce, clearly straining against the padded cuffs, and suppressed the shudder as his skin crawled.

After the armor was the knife sheaths, and then the boots.

“Jason,” Dick said firmly, “It’s okay. _You_ don’t need to be here.”

Jason cast an incredulous look in the direction of the showers, because _Damian_ was sure as hell not coming back.

“I called Alfred and told him to wake up Tim,” Dick said, “Bruce will be fine.”

“Tim’s sick.”

“It’s the flu, not the plague,” Dick rolled his eyes, “And Bruce can take the sniffles for a few days as the price of not dodging Ivy.”

Jason finished shrugging out of his armor, leaving him in a thin undershirt and cargo pants. He shivered, his skin crawling as he stayed in place, the prickling escalating to painful. “I got hit,” he said quietly – Batman had torn off his helmet and practically shoved his face into the pollen – and hissed as his skin began to burn, “I can’t – I need –”

“ _Shit_ ,” Dick swore under his breath, “Okay – Tim for Bruce, and you can hug Damian –”

Jason laughed mirthlessly, “I like my limbs where they are, thanks.” He was five steps away from the bed. Four. Three.

Two.

One.

He slowly levered on top of the bed, crouched above Bruce’s legs – and the man was definitely straining against those restraints now, tugging so hard Jason was worried he’d dislocate something.

“Jason, you don’t have to do this.”

_It’s fine_ , Jason wanted to tell him. _Not like I have much of a choice_ , he wanted to rage. _He’s my dad_ , he wanted to whisper.

Instead, his voice came out low and tremulous, “He won’t hurt me, right?”

Dick inhaled sharply, and Jason twisted to see his face crumple. “No, Little Wing,” Dick said, and his voice was achingly sad, “No, he won’t hurt you.”

Jason hit the catch for the restraints.

In an instant, he was cocooned by warmth – like a bear trap snapping shut. Arms wrapped around him, below his shoulders, pinning his arms, and right above his hip, tugging him against a broad, armored chest as he was folded into Bruce’s lap.

Without armor, without weapons, he felt even smaller. Jason ducked his head into the crook of neck and shoulder, and tried to remember how to breathe.

_It’s Bruce_ , he reminded himself, _he won’t hurt you_. It felt like that initial trust all over again, of being thirteen and deciding to put his faith in a strange man and praying that it wouldn’t end badly.

It felt like flaying his skin off, cracking his ribcage open, baring his heart, and daring the world to take a shot.

Jason only realized that he’d begun to struggle when Bruce’s grasp tightened, digging into bone, and Jason broke off with a sharp, choked sound as he forced himself to go still. No – no fighting. Not this time. The pollen would wear off. Soon, hopefully.

The crawling shudder down his spine had nothing to do with the pollen, and everything to do with Bruce’s face in his hair, nose pressing into his scalp and breaths hot against his skin.

_Twelve and sore and aching and_ done _, he would find another way of making money, a better way – and there was a car left unattended in Crime Alley, big and black and_ fancy _–_

His eyes burned, and he pressed his face to the armor as he felt the wash of fire extend through his face, water clinging to his eyelashes as he muffled his sobs, strangling them into hoarse breaths.

He – he had to focus on something else. Direct his attention away from the arms wrapped around him – _trapping him_ –

Something else. Anything else.

Footsteps padded from the far side of the Cave, slightly unbalanced. “Grayson,” Damian said, and his voice sounded…hesitant, “I – I feel like my skin is burning.”

Oh _Christ_.

Dick made a low groan. “Okay,” he said, “Jason –”

Jason lifted his head enough to say, “Absolutely not.” One person was bad enough. Two sets of arms latching on to him, painful and tight and controlling? _No_. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach, low and heavy.

The elevator doors opened with a faint chime. “Dick?” came a low rasp, “Alfred said you wanted me?”

“Oh – perfect timing, actually, Timmy –”

Damian’s furious inhale felt like it sucked all the air from the Cave. “No,” he snarled, “Not _Drake_ – I refuse to –”

“Tim, come and sit on this bed. Damian, this is your only chance to cuddle with someone who’s definitely not lucid enough to remember this in the morning.”

“Remember what?” Tim asked hoarsely, and Jason twisted his head enough to see Tim settling on top of the bed with a bemused expression. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his face was half-glazed – he looked like a stray breeze would knock him over.

Tim didn’t seem to notice Jason and Bruce, or the murderous little gremlin staring at him, appalled, so Dick’s point was pretty much proven.

The ridges of the gauntlet pressed into his stomach – they should’ve unbuckled those, but the armor was one more layer of protection between Jason and Bruce.

“Nothing,” Dick said, shooing Damian over to Tim, “Damian inhaled some pollen.”

Damian climbed on the bed with great reluctance. Tim blinked at him – and then the breath whooshed out of him as Damian practically tackled him against the bed.

“Damian?” Tim said, thick and confused, but began patting Damian’s back.

“You mention this to anyone, and I will cut off your fingers,” Damian hissed, pressing closer. Tim didn’t look like he even registered the threat – his eyes were already sliding shut, fingers stalling in Damian’s hair as he slumped back against the pillows.

Dick was staring at them with an acute expression of yearning as he finished taping up his ribs. “Of all the times to crack my ribs, it _had_ to happen when everyone gets hit with cuddle pollen,” Dick grumbled, “It’s not fair.”

_No_ , Jason thought half-hysterically, keenly aware of Bruce’s heartbeat pulsing under his cheek, _definitely not fair_.

“I was expecting more of a snarky response from the peanut gallery,” Dick said.

Damian muttered something that might’ve been _‘shut up’_ , but his words were too quiet, and muffled by Tim’s shirt. Dick turned away from them, shaking his head, and froze when he met Jason’s gaze.

Oh wow. He looked _that_ bad then.

“Hey, Jaybird,” Dick said softly, walking to the bedside, “How are you doing?”

He wanted to tear himself away and curl up in a corner by himself. The poison slithering through his veins wanted to curl up closer to his dad. One part of his mind was doing nothing but throwing up extremely unhelpful flashbacks, the other part was shrilly repeating that he could trust Bruce, and another was curled up and shivering, because kindness never lasted and it was better to prepare for the hurt when they could.

His cheeks were wet, and tears were dropping onto the Batsuit to disappear against the dark kevlar.

“Oh, Little Wing,” Dick said, quiet and mournful, something deep and painful in his eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

Dick had nothing to be sorry for. Dick hadn’t _done_ anything to be sorry for.

Jason twisted his head until it was concealed against the armor, and pretended that the shuddering was just the pollen. His fingers clenched on the hard armor – the surface was smooth, and his fingers slid as they attempted to find something to grip, something to make the prickling stop.

Dick made a soft, pained sound, and Jason felt the air shift as he turned to walk away.

Lightning-fast, he snaked a hand out to seize Dick’s, grabbing it tightly – Bruce growled at the change in position, clutching Jason closer, and the movement strained his shoulder. “Don’t go,” Jason said hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut at the fresh burn of tears.

The silence stretched – one heartbeat, two, _three_ – before Dick’s fingers spasmed in his, tightening around Jason’s.

“Okay, Little Wing. I won’t go anywhere.” The taut pressure of his outstretched arm loosened as Dick neared, and Jason felt the bed shift as Dick perched on the edge.

Dick readjusted their grasp so that his fingers were twined with Jason’s, and began rubbing a thumb over Jason’s knuckles. He started humming, and Jason found himself unconsciously matching his breathing to the tune, slowing it from the wrenching, strangled sobs to suppressed, hitched breaths.

Bruce’s breaths ruffled the hair above his ear and Jason kept his grip tight on Dick’s fingers as his shudders faded, leaving only exhaustion behind. He slumped further in Bruce’s hold, resting his forehead against the shoulder plate as fatigue coiled in the wake of the pollen’s effects.

His brother didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy, in the distance: that man needs to learn how to hug his kids.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because enough of you put the idea of seeing Bruce's reaction into my head, you absolute enablers.

Bruce immediately knew that something was wrong – head achy, thoughts fuzzy, mouth dry…and one wrist shackled to the railing in a safety restraint. He could hear the bats, though, which meant he was in the Cave.

Bruce had to blink four times before he could shift up, reaching out to undo the restraint, wracking his head for his last memories.

Dick screaming at him about control issues. Patrol. _Ivy_ – and he had a feeling about what came next in the blurry hole of his memories.

Robin, frightened. Jason, _crying_. Dick…singing?

It was a Lithuanian melody, one of the lullabies Bruce had learned for Dick’s sake, and he couldn’t imagine who else would be singing it. But Nightwing’s case had been at Tricorner Yards, and he thought he remembered telling Batgirl not to contact him.

Bruce sat all the way up – someone had taken off his armor, presumably Alfred given that the suit wasn’t strewn in pieces all over the floor, and his head throbbed viciously as he cast a glance around the Cave.

Dick was lying on his side in the next cot, curled away from him, still in his Nightwing suit, and Bruce scanned the Cave again before realizing that there was a head poking out of the small pile of fabric next to Dick.

He took a couple of steps closer, wavering in surprise – Jason was curled into Dick’s front, his head burrowed under Dick’s chin, clutching the suit in his fists. His cape was wrapped tightly around him, and Dick had a hand tangled in Jason’s hair, keeping him close while not actually putting any weight on him.

Bruce took another step closer, and blue eyes snapped open. A finger pressed to closed lips, and Bruce took the hint.

“What happened?” Bruce asked softly.

“Ivy’s pollen,” Dick whispered, carefully stroking through Jason’s hair. Definitely explained the headache and the missing memories, the pollen always hit him much worse than anyone else. Dick thought it was because he was always repressed. Bruce was pretty sure Ivy had tailored the damn thing to him personally. “Jay got hit too.”

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath and stepped closer, intending to bundle his younger son into a hug, but Dick immediately arched over him, curling up protectively as his expression twisted into a snarl.

Bruce froze. “Don’t,” Dick whispered, something dark and pained in his gaze. Bruce took a slow step back, and Dick gradually relaxed, easing back to the bed and off of a sleeping Jason.

“ _What happened_ ,” Bruce repeated, this time with a bite. Nightwing hadn’t been able to smile at the kid without bitterness flashing through his eyes, and now he was taking on the role of overprotective big brother. Something was very wrong.

Dick winced. “Jay,” he started, and fell silent, staring at the top of Jason’s head. He swallowed, and started again, “Jay didn’t know what the pollen was.”

Yes, they’d never encountered it before – Ivy had mellowed out after she started dating Harley, and the last pollen incident was when Dick had still been Robin. Bruce fought the furrowed brow at the thought of Jason scratching at his skin, unaware of what was going on or how to stop it, knowing only that his skin was burning.

“And your reaction frightened him,” Dick continued, soft, “So don’t loom over him when he wakes up.”

Bruce blinked at him. “What do you mean, my reaction frightened him?” Bruce asked, feeling dread settle in his stomach. Dick bit his lip. “ _Dick_.”

Dick turned a steely-eyed gaze on him. “A man twice his size had him pinned to the ground,” Dick said, mild, “What do you think frightened him?”

Bruce stopped breathing. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears, heavy and loud and _his son_ and _Jay, no_.

He remembered Jason flinching away from him for that first month, remembered holding off on contact training and making sure to never, ever make Jason feel trapped, to always give him an escape, remembered his rage stoking higher as hint after hint was dropped about Jason’s three years on the streets, as Batman scoured every corner of Crime Alley to make sure that what happened to Jason would never happen to another kid again.

All of that, and _Bruce_ had been the one to hold Jason – as he begged – _“No, please, Batman,_ stop _.”_ – Bruce had only fragments of memories, but they were painting a sickening picture.

“I explained it to him,” Dick’s voice cut through the rising tide of _oh-god-what-have-I-done_ , “ _Bruce_. Take a breath. He knows you weren’t trying to hurt him.”

But he’d still believed it, trapped and alone, for however long it had taken Nightwing to show up.

“Bruce,” Dick said, and Bruce took another stumbling step back – Jason, wrapped up in his cape like it was a security blanket, clutching Dick even though Jason barely knew the older boy – and another, somehow managing to stay upright.

“Thank you,” Bruce croaked out, “For being there.” How much worse would it have been if Dick _hadn’t_ been there? If he’d been back in Bludhaven? If Jason cried and cried until he gave up on trying to get away? If Bruce had thoroughly destroyed what tentative trust they’d forged?

“Of course,” Dick said softly, “He’s my little brother.”

It was the first time Dick said those words without making them sound like a joke.

Bruce sank into the Batcomputer chair, shivering, and waited for his younger son to wake up.

* * *

“Little Wing?” Dick said, the words gentle, without any trace of the dark edge that had been in them before, “Little Wing, are you awake?”

“Mhm, Dickface? What’re you doing here?” A loud, cracking yawn. “What – where’s B – what –” And then Jason broke off with a sudden, sharp inhale.

“Little Wing?” Dick asked softly as Bruce tensed.

“Where’s B?” Jason asked, his voice hard, and Bruce stood up.

“Here,” he rasped, and watched two gazes swing towards the Batcomputer – Jason was sitting up, curled up tightly in his cape, while Dick was still lounging on the bed, feigning a sleepiness at odds with his sharp gaze.

Jason stared at him. Dick watched Jason. Bruce felt his heart crack the longer Jason stayed silent, and opened his mouth again. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, “I – I never –” _forcibly held a child against their will?_ “I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Jason stared at him for a stretching moment, his eyes narrowed, before he shrugged, deliberately casual, “It’s Ivy fault. But you could’ve put your rebreather on faster.”

“What’s this?” Dick gasped dramatically, “Getting slow in your old age, B?”

“Remedial rebreather usage training,” Jason nodded thoughtfully. Bruce cracked a small smile as his sons chuckled together – he would agree to a hundred remedial classes, if it meant he could loosen the shadows in Jason’s gaze.

“Alright, I need a shower,” Dick rolled off the bed and stretched in a display of what was clearly showmanship, “Also, I’m staying for breakfast. Alfred still makes crepes, right, Jaybird?”

“Of course!”

Dick flashed his little brother a sunny smile as he headed for the stairs. The expression he gave Bruce was muted acknowledgement that he didn’t stick his foot in his mouth too badly. “Come on, Little Wing,” Dick said, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, “The early bird gets the crepes!”

“Make sure you leave some for me,” Bruce called out as Jason hurried after Dick, and his younger son turned, giving Bruce that mischievous, bright smile. Bruce felt some part of him uncoil.

“We make no promises, old man!”

* * *

* * *

The first thing he registered was the crying. Everything else was secondary – bruises on his wrists, dry throat, pounding head, alarmingly fuzzy memories – to the quiet, suppressed sobs of one of his children.

Bruce cracked his eyes open – dim lights, fluttering shadows, he was in the Cave – and there was a heavy weight lying on top of him, fierce shudders wracking through their frame. Bruce blinked, and tried to force himself to alertness.

He’d been fighting Ivy. With the Red Hood. Then –

Crying. That was all he could remember. Awful, choked, tearing sobs, breathing that hovered near hyperventilation, the wrenching cries of utter surrender.

Robin had been there, he remembered a scowling face, but the main image filling his vision were eyes a vivid green, wide and watery and _terrified_.

He had never seen the Red Hood so afraid, and he had a sickening feeling as to the cause.

Breathing hitched as the shudders grew stronger, and Bruce untwisted his grip, squinting down at the head lying on his shoulder – black hair with a spot of white, eyes moving desperately under the eyelids as Jason twitched, tears leaking down his cheeks.

“Jason,” Bruce said hoarsely, and cleared his throat and tried again, “ _Jason_.”

Jason’s eyes snapped open – green and wide and unseeing for a moment, until realization slammed in, until they focused on Bruce, until pupils blew wide in horror.

Jason tore himself off of Bruce, nearly tripping headfirst off the cot in his drive to get away. There was a pained groan from the side of the cot, and Bruce watched Dick untwist from his coiled position, clearly jarred by Jason’s sudden movements.

“Jason,” Bruce said, sitting up and watching his son stumble back nearly twenty feet before he came to a stop, trembling violently. Jason’s face was pale and tearstained, eyes red rimmed and outlined in dark shadows. He was wearing only a thin undershirt and his normal cargo pants, and out of the armor, shivering with his arms clasped around him, Jason didn’t look anything like the fearsome Red Hood.

He looked like a nineteen-year-old that had been forced to confront horrific past trauma.

“Jason,” Bruce repeated helplessly. Getting off the bed was a bad idea. Waiting for Jason to start hyperventilating was also a bad idea.

“Jaybird,” Dick straightened slowly, motioning for Bruce to stay put, “Can I come closer?”

Jason’s flickering gaze snapped to Dick, cataloguing the older man, before there was a short, sharp nod.

Dick stepped forward, slow and careful, as Tim and Damian were roused by the racketing tension – they were, for some reason, sleeping in the same bed, and Damian didn’t even go for a knife as he uncurled from Tim. Strange.

“Little Wing,” Dick said softly, “It’s okay. You’re in the Cave. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

Jason didn’t look like he believed him. Like he believed that the Cave was safe.

Bruce stayed where he was, and tried to ignore the feeling of his heart cracking into a hundred small little pieces.

“You’re safe,” Dick repeated, “No one is going to hurt you, Jaybird.” He was only a few feet away now. “Can I touch you?”

Jason shuddered more violently, and gave another bob of his head. Dick slowly reached out a hand, careful to telegraph his movements, and placed it on Jason’s shoulder.

Before he could speak, Jason had wrapped Dick into a bear hug, and the older man went stiff and tense with a punched-out exhale. “Hurts,” Jason stuttered, burying his head in Dick’s hair.

“Jay,” Dick said, pained, “Jay – Jason, my ribs are cracked, I can’t –” He made an agonized sound, and Bruce stumbled off the bed – he needed to separate them, Dick was hurt, Jason didn’t know his own strength right now –

Jason made a sharp, high-pitched, terrified sound when he registered Bruce’s approach, clutching Dick tighter, and Bruce froze.

“Bruce, _stop_ ,” Dick snapped, “Back away. You’re making things worse.”

He was making things worse. Because Jason was scared of _him_.

“Little Wing, I can’t, you need to let go of me, okay?”

“No,” Jason’s voice cracked, “No, Dick, please not him, _please_ –”

Bruce sank back onto the bed, his blood roaring in his ears and nearly drowning out everything else.

“No, not Bruce, I promise – Tim? Tim, can you please come here?”

“What?” Tim pushed off the bed, bleary but growing increasingly alarmed at the situation, “What’s going on here? What –” he broke off into a series of hacking coughs.

Damian took several steps away from him.

“Tim, _please_ ,” Dick huffed breathlessly, curved up on his tiptoes to reduce the pressure on his ribs. Tim warily drew closer, and let out a small squeak when Jason grudgingly let go of Dick to grab Tim instead.

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Tim rasped, pale and sweaty, absently patting Jason’s arm where it was curled around his stomach.

“Cuddle pollen,” Dick said, pressing a hand to his stomach and wincing, “And a bunch of bad luck. B, you need a shower.”

“But –”

“You are still covered in pollen, which is why Jason’s still affected, and now _I’ve_ got some on me, and Tim probably does as well – the decontamination protocol is thoroughly shot, but you still need a shower.”

“Where did the brat go?” Tim asked, the sleepy haze in his eyes clearing, “Wait – was _he_ cuddling me earlier?” He attempted to twist in Jason’s steely grasp, but failed. “Um. Why is Jason crying?”

Dick buried his head in his hands and looked about two steps from crying himself.

“Showers,” Bruce said, attempting to be firm, “Dick, you too. Damian, you need to take another one as well. Tim and Jason – maybe we can wait for the pollen to wear off.”

He forced himself to take a step back, away from Jason, and another and another, and finally turned his back, ignoring the wrenching pain.

* * *

Jason was staring blankly into the fire, ignoring Tim’s rasping breaths and abrupt coughing fits – the decontamination shower hadn’t done Tim’s cold any favors, but Jason had too much of the pollen in his system to stay by himself, Dick was hurt, and Damian had refused to take over just to spare Tim.

Bruce had kept a careful fifteen feet distance between him and his second son at all times, keenly aware of the way Jason stiffened if he got even a step closer.

_Your son_ , something in his mind hissed, _is terrified of you._ That was the legacy he’d left.

Bruce reminded himself that he couldn’t slip into Arkham just to break Ivy’s nose, and also that going out back and chopping down the old apple tree to use for kindling would be extremely petty and functionally useless.

He kept his arms loosely curled around Dick as his eldest son made a frustrated sound and shifted in his lap, torn between his throbbing ribs and pressing closer – just enough pollen to give that prickling feeling, but lucid enough to recognize that cuddling was a bad idea.

“Jason,” Bruce said softly, and Jason tensed, his spine stiffening as his shoulders hunched – Bruce had never realized how defensive the gesture was, it looked a lot more threatening when braced with armor.

“Don’t,” Jason said, thick and choked, “Don’t, I don’t want to – I know, okay, Bruce, I just – you didn’t – I was just – I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. It was just the pollen. I _know_.”

_Then why_ , something said in Bruce’s head, achingly sad, _do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?_

“Jason,” Bruce repeated, “I’m sorry.” The words felt hollow. Like trying to cover a hole in the wall with paper.

_I’m sorry for hurting you._

_I’m sorry for triggering you._

_I am so, so,_ so _sorry that you still see me as a threat._

“It was just the pollen,” Jason said dully, absently rubbing Tim’s back when the kid began coughing again.

“I’m going to have a _talk_ with Ivy the next time I see her,” Dick grumbled, hissing as he shifted yet _again_ , unable to sit still. Bruce pressed down on his shoulders, and Dick slowly relaxed. “I mean, sure, the cuddling was nice when I was Robin, but she still hasn’t learned that not everyone wants physical affection – especially physical affection that they can’t escape.”

There was a stretching beat of silence.

“Wait,” Jason started.

“She’s doing this on _purpose_?” Tim wheezed.

“Dick,” Bruce barely managed to keep his tone civil, “ _Explain_.”

“Explain – you guys didn’t know? Ivy totally developed that pollen because she thought you needed to hug me more.”

Bruce stared at his son. “Why would you think that?” Bruce asked, genuinely taken aback.

Dick blinked up at him. “Because she _told_ me?” Dick responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait,” Jason said hoarsely, “You’re telling me that this – that _all_ of this is because Ivy thinks Batman needs to be more cuddly?”

“Yeah, apparently Harley told her that I was touch-starved or something, so that’s how it started.”

Jason started laughing, high and edging on hysterical, burying his face in the pillow as he shook – Bruce wasn’t sure whether the muffled sounds were sobs or chuckles.

“Little Wing?” Dick ventured out slowly. Bruce was still trying to recover from the revelation that apparently Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn wanted to judge _his_ parenting style.

“I can’t believe,” Jason wheezed, shuddering, “That Ivy developed a pollen –” his breathing cut off to heaving gasps – “Just to get Batman to give Robin a hug.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick and Bruce said in unison.

Jason let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Never fails to amaze me how you can apologize for things that aren’t your fault, while refusing to accept blame for things that _are_.”

Tim made a small, muted sound.

“You don’t get to talk, Replacement, you’re just as bad.”

“I wasn’t going to argue,” Tim said nasally, “I was trying to tell you that you’re crushing my lungs.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting snot all over my shirt, so I think we’re square.”

“Jason –” Bruce started again, quiet and stricken, but Jason cut him off with a groan.

“Can we _please_ stop talking about this?”

He still wasn’t looking at Bruce, and Bruce exhaled slowly.

_How do I fix this?_ he remembered asking Dinah, years ago, _how do I regain his trust?_

_One step at a time,_ she’d responded, _always one step at a time._

“Okay,” Bruce said, and watched a fraction of the tension ease. He cleared his throat, “Is everyone staying for breakfast?”

“You mean, if Damian actually leaves us any crepes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick, showing up at Ivy's park: hi, I'd like to have a talk about consent.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Batman gets hit with Ivy's pollen and attacks Jason, who thinks that he's under the influence of sex pollen. Jason has a prolonged panic attack, before Dick shows up and corrects this mistaken assumption.


End file.
